


Three Words

by doctormccoy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, First Time, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Pining, Post Civil War, Slight Star Wars References, bed sharing, love making
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 08:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6897328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormccoy/pseuds/doctormccoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because "I hate you" never really meant what it implied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Words

**Author's Note:**

> Because we all know Sam was really saying something else. 
> 
> Civil War spoilers obviously, but not compliant with the credits scene.

Sam almost misses the days when he only had one snarky, sarcastic super soldier with a messiah complex to deal with.

Almost.

In the wake of the blowout following the Sokovia Accords he ends up going into hiding alongside said super soldiers. The rest of them disperse back to various homes and hidey holes. Clint and Scott return to their families, Wanda to Sokovia to figure out what it was she wanted to do next. Sam is pretty sure Vision went with her but being off the grid means being _off_ the grid. No news, no contact with the outside world, no nothing.

He has to admit it does have its perks. They’ve rented an apartment in San Francisco, just the three of them. It’s small but it’s cozy with two bedrooms, a neat kitchen, bathroom, and living area. Turns out Bucky is actually pretty good at drumming up money when they need it.

But not so good that they could afford the astronomical cost of a three bedroom apartment in California. They barely scrape enough together for two bedrooms but Sam was so not about to share a bed with two pairs of super soldier shoulders thank you very much. In fact he doesn’t plan on sharing the bed with _any_ super soldier shoulders whatsoever except here he is, staring at the peaceful face of the man beside him and wondering what deity he offended to end up with a bedful of sleeping Winter Soldier. 

“Steve snores,” Bucky whines over breakfast that morning. 

“He also tosses and turns,” he supplements while Sam’s just trying to brush his teeth in peace.

“Please don’t make me deal with his morning breath again,” he pleads while holding the remote hostage during Sam’s favorite television show. 

On and on for three straight days before Sam finally surrenders if only to skip the song and dance of getting his orange juice back from Bucky’s grasp. 

“I hate you,” Sam says while Bucky does a small victory dance in the kitchen. 

“I know,” Bucky responds but the grin on his face is more amused than contrite. 

So now here they are, two grown ass men sharing a bed that’s definitely not large enough for their grown asses. Sam isn’t really sure what he’d expected to happen. Nightmares maybe, some sort of panic episode if Bucky woke up suddenly. But no, Bucky’s just curled on his side, hair in his face, mouth slightly slackened, and sleeping quite peacefully.

It gives Sam a chance to really study him in a way that he can’t while Bucky’s awake. The faint shadow of stubble that always seems to stick around no matter how recently he’s shaved. Those ridiculously long eyelashes, though not nearly as out of control as Steve’s. The graceful curve of his neck leading down to criminally broad shoulders. T’Challa’s scientists had removed the remaining outer shell of Bucky’s metal Hydra arm after Tony had destroyed it, leaving only the scarred up stump of his upper arm in its place. Sam used to work for the VA, he’s used to a wide variety of scars and the sight of it hardly phases him. He catches Steve staring at it sometimes, though. He thinks it must remind him of the War, and how he’d failed to catch Bucky before he fell. 

To Sam it’s just another part of Bucky. It’s interesting in a way he will definitely deny to his dying breath if anyone ever asked. 

A narrow waist, long legs tapering into almost graceful feet. Bucky’s boxers are riding low on bony hips and Sam’s treated to the V of his lower belly, tapering off into things unknown. He swallows dryly, throat clicking, and tries not to think about those unknown things. 

Sam looks like a ghost when he finally crawls from his bedroom the next morning after hardly sleeping a wink and pours himself into the shower, hoping he can steam some life into his tired body. He’s too exhausted to think it strange that someone hands his towel to him when he reaches out to grab it off the rack beside the shower. Nor does it give him a moment of pause that the sink is definitely running in the background. He throws back the curtain and gets an eyeful of very pale, very naked super soldier ass. Bucky flashes him a grin from where he’s neck deep in shaving cream, giving Sam an appreciative once over before winking and going back to what he’s doing. 

“The towel look is good on you,” Barnes says cheekily and Sam would be tempted to smother him with said towel if it wasn’t the only thing preserving his dignity in that moment. He rolls his eyes and shoulders his way past Bucky, desperately hoping there’s still some bacon left in the fridge. 

“I hate you,” he yells over his shoulder, slamming the bedroom door shut, but not before he hears Bucky’s chipper “I know” from the bathroom. 

There isn’t any bacon left. He sits at the table like a grouch with his coffee watching the news on their small television until he realizes that Bucky has yet to make a reappearance. He vaguely remembers the door opening and closing while he was getting dressed and figures Bucky went running with Steve. 

So when the front door opens and Bucky’s standing there with an entire sleeve of grocery bags and a Styrofoam takeout container in his palm he has to admit he’s surprised. 

“What on earth have you got there?” Sam asks, intrigued as Bucky unloads his burden on the kitchen table. Bucky smirks and turns away to open the takeout box with his back to Sam, blocking the view.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Sam rolls his eyes and makes to stand up and start unpacking the groceries when a plate dropping in front of him stops him in his tracks. It’s a mess of scrambled eggs and hash browns with four strips of the crispiest, most beautiful looking bacon he’s ever seen. 

“I got a job today, at that little diner down the street. Just washing dishes and stuff but they make a really great breakfast. Figured you might be hungry since Steve ate the last of the bacon and eggs this mornin’.”

Sam looks up at him, expecting some sort of amusement or devious glint but instead he’s confronted with the most open, eager smile he’s ever seen on Bucky’s face. He genuinely wanted to do something nice for Sam and it was.. painfully sweet. 

He can tell his stunned silence is starting to drag on because the smile starts to fade into something more nervous, as if Bucky’s actually afraid he’s gone and offended Sam somehow. 

Figuring out how to make his mouth move again, Sam reaches out to grip Bucky’s wrist before he can pull his hand away, pausing at the heat that spreads through him from the simple contact.

“Thanks, man. That was really nice of you. I mean it. I’m grateful, and I’m proud of you for getting the job,” he says seriously and it’s worth the few moments of fumbling embarrassment to see Bucky’s face light up like the Fourth of July. He lets his arm go so Bucky can start to put the groceries away, looking down at his plate. It smells amazing. 

Sam’s brows furrow and he looks up at Bucky, watching him as he stacks boxes of cereal in the cupboard.

“How did you even get the door open?” he asks, totally flummoxed by this realization. His arm and hand had definitely been fully loaded with groceries and takeout. Sam can _hear_ the grin on Bucky’s face even if he can’t see it from this angle.

“Sorry, super assassin secret. If I told you I’d have to kill you,” Bucky says innocently and Sam groans, stuffing a forkful of eggs and bacon into his mouth.

“I hate you,” he sighs, propping his chin up on his palm and raising an eyebrow at Bucky. 

“I know,” Bucky replies, shooting him a smile before lobbing a crumpled up paper towel at his face. 

Sam’s the one that has to explain to Steve why there’s egg on the ceiling but in his defense, Bucky definitely started it. 

Later that night he finds himself making friends with the slight curve of Bucky’s stomach again, studying the dusky trail of hair that leads from his navel to the hem of his boxers. He replays the last several weeks of being on the run with him and Steve, the long hours spent in an innocuous silver Honda Accord and the cramped hotel rooms, the crappy fast food. In all that time he can’t ever actually remember feeling miserable.

If anything he’d actually loved it, right down to the times when they took turns sleeping in the back seat because they couldn’t find a cheap enough place to crash. It’s hard to pinpoint why he’d enjoyed the trip so much, even when he’s obviously staring right at it. 

“I think the saying is ‘Take a picture, it’ll last longer’,” comes a deep, gravelly voice from right beside his ear and Sam has several heart stopping moments to come up with a dozen different excuses for why he’s staring at Bucky’s hips hard enough to nearly melt the boxers from his body.

They all disappear when he looks up and meets Bucky’s gaze and sees the heat in his eyes.

But also the hesitation. The anxiety. He’s genuinely afraid in this moment that Sam will reject him. 

“I hate you,” Sam murmurs and the smile that curves at the corners of Bucky’s mouth is almost heart wrenching. They’re awful close now, barely a breath away as their bodies gravitate towards each other. 

“I know,” Bucky whispers back and then their lips are touching, soft and shy in the still night quiet of their room. Sam angles his chin to deepen the kiss, tongue chasing Bucky’s back into his mouth with increasingly bold licks. 

With surprising speed and agility for someone with only one arm to help him up, Bucky swings himself over to straddle Sam’s waist, body curved above him so they’re still close enough to kiss. Sam throws his arms around his shoulders to drag him the rest of the way down until they’re pressed flush against one another, Bucky’s hips slipping easily between his own. 

Squirming a hand between them to shove their boxers down their hips just enough to get the friction he’s suddenly desperate for, he swallows Bucky’s low moan when his palm brushes over his sensitive cock. The heat between them is molten and Sam relishes in it, kissing Bucky again and again until they’re both breathless, mouths swollen and wet. 

Sam draws his knees up on either side of Bucky’s hips and digs his heels into the bed to grind up harder against him, their cocks slipping against one another. Gripping Bucky’s face in his hands, he pulls him back up from where he’d been doing wicked things to Sam’s throat with his mouth so he can get a good look at him and he’s not disappointed. Bucky’s face is flush pink and panting, eyes glazed over with want, lips puffy and red from Sam’s kisses. Sam wants to memorize that face and keep it forever. 

He realizes, quite suddenly, that he _can_ keep it forever. There’s no signs to misinterpret. No confusion or miscommunication. He’s in love with Bucky Barnes and Bucky Barnes is in love with him. 

The desperate edge to their movements slows and steadies until they’re doing little more than rocking their hips, foreheads pressed together. Bucky kisses his lower lip and Sam turns his head to nudge his nose alongside Bucky’s, tongue darting out to lick away a bead of sweat. 

He ghosts his hands down the length of his back to cup Bucky’s ass, trying to bring their bodies closer together and Bucky huffs out a laugh against Sam’s neck, pressing a tiny kiss to the pulse point behind his ear. 

Embarrassed, Sam tightens his thighs around Bucky’s hips, giving a solid upward grind that gets them both whimpering. 

“I hate you,” he whispers, tipping his head back with a low, ragged moan when Bucky’s teeth find his sensitive ear lobe. 

“I know,” Bucky murmurs back, breath cool on sweat damp skin. 

Their mouths inevitably gravitate back together and Sam’s lips part to allow the lazy press of Bucky’s tongue inside. Pleasure and happiness and warmth swell up in his belly and then he’s coming, sticky and hot across his own belly. Bucky follows him over the edge a few short moments later, adding to the mess between their hips. 

Sam feels Bucky’s weight settle more fully on top of him and tucks his face into the curve of Bucky’s throat, hand still trailing idly up and down the length of his spine. He’s content to lie there for the rest of his life with Bucky’s lips against his cheek until then, without warning, Bucky blows a loud, wet raspberry right on his face.

He has a feeling his expression is a mix between offended and appalled when Bucky draws back, his own face a mask of innocent mirth. 

Bucky’s still laughing when Sam shoves him off and attempts to wrestle him into submission, only for them to end up on the floor in a tangle of blankets. 

Sam’s on his side staring at Bucky, who is only a few inches away and still grinning like a loon. They’re a mess of sex and sweat and Bucky has a nice big chunk of hair standing straight up from how he’d been sleeping before all of this unfolded.

“I hate you,” Sam chuckles finally, the challenge fading from his face to be replaced with something warmer and softer. Bucky closes the gap to brush his mouth across Sam’s and Sam can taste his smile, feels the affectionate curve of it against his lips. 

“I know,” Bucky whispers back and this time Sam hears what he’s really been saying all along.

I love you too.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [samwilson](http://samwilson.tumblr.com)!
> 
> [My other BuckySam fic.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3154250)
> 
> [My Bucky/Sam/Steve verse.](http://archiveofourown.org/series/172595)
> 
> I might make this into a verse and do some more stories with them. Maybe one about their road trip out to California. We'll see where the inspiration takes me.


End file.
